marlowemuses | ❥ sometimes it's meant to be

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❥ sometimes it's meant to be

Charterhouse was one of the most elite, exclusive schools in England.

It housed only boys. Boys of all ages, from ones first learning to button their pants on their own to the ones that couldn't seem to keep their pants on when in interesting company. With a campus that covered more than 27,000 acres, the schools had plenty of room to be spread across. Rich, green grass and old fashioned cobblestone streets—it was the pride of the academic world. Rich in history and pedigree, only the cream of the crop could even glance at an application, much less apply and attend. It was a school for future politicians, royalty, and celebrities. The men bred from Charterhouse were said to be the most cultivated in the world.

And, naturally, the richest. Only those from a well-to-do family could attend Charterhouse. Which was why one Richard Campbell Gansey the Third was one among the golden—like his father before him, and his father before him. The Ganseys were internationally known. Mrs. Gansey: a popular and well-known politician in the United States of America. Mr. Gansey (the Second): an ambitious and clever member parliament. Helen Gansey: fashion entrepreneur and lawyer, likely to end up going into politics once she tired of running the runway.

Richard Gansey the Third: one could only wonder what the future POTUS would do. On the campus of Charterhouse he was a golden boy. Popular—captain of the crew team yet also quite an intellectual, spending a great deal of time involved in the expansion of the library and archiving old, important texts. He was the man that everyone liked and talked to. The laughs of Ganseyboy were oft heard throughout the marble halls of the College campus. Handsome—he was more American than most of his peers, having a presidential and charming look about him, with a perfectly golden sun-kissed tan. Thick brown hair swept back neatly almost always, a square build, gentle olive eyes, and a straight nose. The sort of man that entranced those who spoke to him; that wasn't even taking the velvety, almost magical quality of his voice into account.

What the members of his crew team could never figure out was why Richard Campbell Gansey "Ganseyboy" the Third was always single. Never spoke about his sexual conquests, never brought a girl along to parties (when he attended, reluctantly), never even so much as mentioned being interested in anyone. It boggled their minds. The man spent his time with his nose in dusty old books and wandering around old buildings so often that they had grown concerned; the guy should get laid. As friends, as bros, as fellow eventual members of congress of what-have-you, it was their duty to see their beloved Ganseyboy paired off. Or, at least, getting some kind of action in his youth.

Which was why there was a plan. A plan, and a bet that eventually formed because of that plan. A bet in which a lot of money was placed. For, the subject of their little game (along with good old Ganseyboy) was the iciest, coldest, most shut off of all the students. What was the point if there was no challenge? No doubt, among the boys involved in the bet, there were a few that had been spurned by the ice prince, too. Revenge was a sweet thing. Two birds with one stone: they got Ganseyboy laid and they burned the ice prince that had burned them. Or three—someone was bound to make a tidy profit.

When one of the boys approached the ice prince's brother about setting him up with the charming golden boy on campus, the man had launched at the opportunity—for the happiness of his brother, no doubt, and he was not told about the bet.

That was how it would begin. It was a Wednesday, around 4 in the afternoon, when one of the boys dragged Gansey toward the library. The rest of the boys had made sure it was empty. The one dragging him—Charles Defonte the Second—had begged Gansey for some tutoring in history. It was agreed with Laurent's brother that he would also manage to bring Laurent to the library somehow—and the two of them would be left there together to formally acquaint.

There was no tutoring. Charles shoved Gansey into the library in front of him and then shut the door behind him and locked it. "Oh no," the boy faked a gasp, "the door has gone and locked itself, Ganseyboy! A ghost, it's gotta be. I'll go get the janitor. Be back as soon as I have lunch and then find him!" Leaving a very confused Gansey staring at the door and trying to push it open, to no avail. Locked.

"Do you really think it's a ghost?" he said to no one, because Charles had run off to tell the boys that he'd done his part.

There was another door on the other side of the library that was left for the same to happen to Laurent. Unbeknownst to Gansey, who took a seat at one of the tables and glanced around, quickly. A curious time for there to be no one else in the library.

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Gansey had been expecting a lot of things. That he'd said something poorly, that Jack had texted him and it turned out they had a lot in common, that he'd never really liked Gansey at all and had just wanted to get out of the arrangement. He was not, however, prepared for the accusal that he put a bet on Laurent.

Startled, he stands there just shocked for a moment, but not long enough to let Laurent get away.

"What are you talking about?" Brow furrowed, he reached out to grab Laurent's shoulder so that he couldn't go, fingers still icy and numb. "I would never do something like that. Where did you get an idea like—?"

Cheeks burning with what was probably a fever, though he chalked it up to being upset, he continued, "You know me, Laurent. When would I—or Ronan, or Adam, or Noah—ever do something like that?"

"I thought I knew you," Laurent said, yanking away from him. "Don't touch me. You broke my heart!"

His voice cracked, hands shaking. "I thought I knew you. I thought I loved you. So, congrats. You did a great job. You got me. And if your stupid loudmouth friends hadn't been bragging, you might've won the bet."

The shattered pieces of Gansey's heard stabbed into his throat, his ribs, his belly, his feet. Everything hurt. Eyes glassy and expression set, he pressed his lips together, trying very hard to keep his composure. It was getting difficult. His head hurt, his throat throbbed, and his body was freezing. Nothing felt right. It would have been better to get run over by a car.

"You keep talking about a bet. What bet? I've never taken part in any bet." At a loss, Gansey followed, refusing to lose Laurent. There was something wrong, and it was unacceptable.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Laurent. I love you. I haven't—I don't know what great job I've supposed to have done!"

"Please stop," Laurent begged him, backed up against the door and refusing to look at him. "It hurts."

Tense and angry, Laurent quieted, folding his arms over his chest and reassessing. Gansey wasn't letting him leave. Gansey was still doggedly, cruelly, acting like Gansey.

"I overheard some of the boys talking in the cafeteria. I was coming around the corner. There are bets as to whether--or when--you'll fuck me. Now I get why half the school seemed so interested about the progress of our relationship. Word is that the amount of money bet under your name is... significant."

Laurent hugged his arms tighter over his chest, feeling vulnerable and broken, more alone than ever.

Gansey was eerily quiet as Laurent explained. His confusion and sadness quickly sparked into anger, which melded into a deep, burning rage as Laurent described what he had heard.

"Is that so?"

Furious. He was utterly furious. His tone had taken on a grit that it never had before; icy, dangerous, even and calm like the eye of a storm. His jaw was set and his eyes were narrowed.

"I see. Bets. On our relationship." What they had meant by the money under his name, Gansey had no idea, but it didn't matter. Suddenly puzzle pieces were coming together. Why he'd been locked in the library. Why he was constantly asked about how things between him and Laurent were going.

Quietly, Gansey pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and scrolled through his contacts. Pressing down on the screen, he put the phone up against his ear, "Hello? Chairman? Yes, it's Richard Gansey, good to talk to you again. Yes, I'll be forwarding you a list of students for expulsion tomorrow. Yes, yes, not living up to the Charterhouse name. We wouldn't want people like that graduating. Yes, mother's doing well, thanks for asking. Anyway, until tomorrow. Thank you."

Laurent's eyes flicked up at the new tone in Gansey's relationship. Nervous and cold, he watched as Gansey made his call, brows rising at the severity of that. He wondered how many boys were going to land on that particular list.

Part of his brain, hurt and panicky, was still trying to protect him by insisting that this was all a ruse. But the level of psychotic mastermind it would take to expel a group of students to cover his tracks was... implausible. Especially when the alternative was that Gansey simply hadn't known.

Someone might have made the bet in Gansey's name. As an additional, tasteless joke.

Laurent wilted, defenses crumbling into sheer lonely misery. He reached for Gansey, pulling him close and clinging to him.

When Laurent reached for him, clung to him, Gansey's arms fell. At first he stood, still chilled and miserable, body and soul aching from the agony the day had dragged him through. Somehow he found the energy to lift his hands and wrap his arms around Laurent's waist. Head bowing, he rested it against Laurent's shoulder and closed his eyes.

He was burning up. Between laying in the street and then sitting in the rain, he had gotten sick. As he stood there hanging onto Laurent, his body felt weak. His head hurt. It was difficult to tell if it was from the anger that still burned up his chest or if it was from something else.

It hurt to think that Laurent would believe he would do something like that. It hurt to think about how he'd been dumped. It hurt to think that his classmates would be so cruel, so tasteless. It hurt to think, period.

Sagging against Laurent, he willed himself not to think at all.

Gansey was too warm, too weak, wrong entirely, and it took a few minutes for Laurent to recover from his own pain enough to notice it. Gansey leaned against him too heavily, like he was exhausted.

The kettle whistled loudly, jolting Laurent out of his reverie. It was loud enough that he wondered how long it had been whistling without him hearing it.

Letting go of Gansey, Laurent went and removed it from the heat, setting it aside and digging in the cupboard for two mugs and tea. He poured water in the cups, glancing over at Gansey. He seemed sluggish. Wrong.

Leaving the tea to steep, Laurent went back to him, taking Gansey's hand and pulling him over to the bed. "You're soaked through. We've gotta get you changed into pyjamas."

When Laurent let go of him, Gansey remained, leaning his arm against the wall rather than go sit. Dizzy—it was an unfamiliar feeling. The payment, he supposed, of laying on a cold street for a while when winter was approaching, and then sitting out in the rain after.

Laurent felt especially cold when he slipped his hand into Gansey's. Glancing up, Gansey was startled to found that he'd moved from the wall to the bed without even realizing it.

"It's all right," he said, dropping down onto the edge of the bed. A few times he tried to unfasten his pants but it was simply too difficult. "It's fine," he said, again, dropping back onto the bed. "You don't hate me. I can die in peace."

Eventually Laurent would be made privy to Gansey's dramatics, and how his statement was likely a continuation of his day of anguish.

"You're not going to die," Laurent said, sitting next to him and unfastening Gansey's pants. He bent over to take off Gansey's wet shoes and socks, and then stripped off Gansey's wet pants and underwear, laying a blanket over him while he went to fetch pajama pants for his boyfriend. He helped Gansey into them, patient and determined, and kissed his forehead once he had succeeded. "I love you. I won't let you die."

Tucking Gansey in, Laurent got up and fetched their tea. He added honey liberally to Gansey's, and brought it over, manhandling him to sit up and holding the cup to his lips. "You're such an idiot," he scolded, voice soft and fond. "Trying to catch pneumonia."

Gansey found that he didn't mind being manhandled by Laurent. Whenever he tried to help his clumsy hands merely got in the way, so he mostly kept back, moving as Laurent bid him and then curling up in blankets when he was dressed and tucked in.

The tea felt too hot against his lips but he drank it anyway, the strong taste of honey soothing his throat. "Forget trying. I think I have."

Glancing up with a furrowed brow, "You love me?" A bit of a belated reaction, but given he was still working under the impression he was dumped, he wasn't sure what to say.

Satisfied when Gansey had drunk enough of the tea, Laurent set the cup aside, getting up and taking off his own clothes, borrowing another pair of pajama pants and one of Gansey's t-shirts. "Yes. And if you want to hear me say it again, you're just going to have to decide to live."

Laurent climbed into the bed next to him, hugging close against Gansey's side to help warm them both up. "I'm so sorry I doubted you. I was insecure. You know how I've been struggling with the idea that I don't deserve you and that I'm unlovable. When I thought I'd heard something that proved that, I... Gansey, I'm so sorry. I was an idiot, and I hurt you."

If there was ever a time to stay upset, Gansey supposed, it would be this one. Laurent had broken up with him without so much as a word. Had believed something he'd heard from some jerks rather than coming to Gansey with his worries. A broken heart was more painful than he could have imagined.

"It's all right," Gansey said, turning so that he could nestle his face in the crook of Laurent's neck. Of course he forgave Laurent. "Next time... before you break up with me, will you talk to me first? I don't think my heart can take this again."

Snaking his arm around his waist, "You're not unlovable. I love you. More than anything. So you shouldn't tell yourself that anymore." For a moment he was quiet, considering everything that had happened. As furious as he was with the boys that started a cruel, tasteless game, they had still brought Laurent to him. Would they have met otherwise? Gansey wanted to believe that they would have, but there was no way to know.

And the terms of the bet itself bothered him.

"Just so you know," he said, slowly, "we don't have to have sex. If you don't ever want to. I love you for you, Laurent. Not because of how you look, or anything like that."

"I'll talk to you," Laurent promised, curling his hand around Gansey's cheek. "Even though I'm never going to break up with you ever again. I'm yours. Every part of me is yours. I was stupid. I won't doubt you ever again, I swear it."

Smiling softly, Laurent kissed Gansey's forehead. "I definitely want to have sex with you. Lots and lots of sex. Not just yet. But, um. Soon. Whenever it happens naturally. I'm looking forward to that."

His heart was pounding, grateful to have Gansey back and terrified that Gansey wouldn't forgive him. He felt devoted and infatuated, and resolved to never again allow any of his own doubts or fears hurt Gansey.

"Lots and lots? I see." He laughed at that, closing his eyes and melting into the coolness of Laurent's body. It felt amazing. While he was still warm his head was hurting less, curled up in bed and comforted by Laurent's presence.

"That's what I always thought. When it happens naturally."

It was good that they were on the same page. "Would you hate it terribly if I fell asleep? It's so much easier when I'm in your arms." Sighing, he buried his face into Laurent's chest. "Don't leave me. Please."

"You sweet idiot," Laurent said, letting his hand slide up to massage gently at Gansey's scalp. "Forget that anything in the past day happened. I'm sorry for it. From now on, you can always sleep in my arms. I'm not leaving you ever again. I promise."

Nuzzling at Gansey's hair, Laurent smiled, fingers trailing down to massage at the base of Gansey's scalp, trying to coax him into sleep. He felt warm with gratitude that he'd been wrong, and that Gansey was his, would always be his. It felt like a miracle that someone like Gansey could love him, and he resolved to never doubt his loyal, selfless boyfriend ever again.

"Good." It was a sleepy murmur from a sleepy man. Closing his eyes and allowing himself to rest, he dozed, feeling safe and content in Laurent's arms.

And he stayed that way, not waking when Ronan and Noah opened the door to the room and stared at them saddled up together. Looking at Gansey to Laurent to Gansey to Laurent again, Ronan rose a brow, he asked, "So is he gonna stop being a drama queen now?" as he padded into the kitchette.

"He said there was nothing left to live for," Noah explained, following after Ronan, "and tried to get run over by a car."

Stirring halfway from sleep, Laurent lifted a finger for them, sitting up partway but keeping a protective arm around Gansey. "He caught a cold. Unsurprisingly. Either of you know that there was a bet on for whether or not he could get me into bed? Someone put a bid in his name. I freaked."

It was explanation and interrogation at once. Laurent figured they needed to know, and he trusted them because Gansey trusted them, but he still felt prickly toward anyone who wasn't Gansey.

Gansey, for his part, only nestled deeper against Laurent, not roused from sleep. Ronan, having stuffed a piece of bread in his mouth, stared at Laurent with eyebrows raised. Swallowing thickly, he glanced to Noah, who had an equally confused expression.

"What fuckers," Ronan said, shaking his head, clearly disgusted. Noah just looked sad. Or, sad as one could look with such a smudgy face. "We had no idea. Not like they'd talk to us about their shitty games," Ronan continued, the lines in his brow quite advanced. "Joke's on them. Once Gansey's pissed..." He shrugged, squinting out the window. "You really don't wanna mess with Dick."

Noah pressed his lips together. "There was a guy that wanted to date him. Maybe he did it?"

"There are lots of guys who want to date both of us. I can name the four at the table who I overheard, but I got the impression that they weren't the only ones involved. Did you know anything about..." Laurent's expression suddenly flickered with hurt surprise. He reached for his phone, but couldn't quite grab it without shifting Gansey. "Ronan. Please," he said, fingers outstretched toward the phone.

"The day we met, we got locked in the library together. We both thought the prank was just on Gansey. Either of you know anything about that part?"

Ronan chewed on his piece of bread and tossed the phone to Laurent, narrowly missing smacking Gansey in the head with it.

"I remember," Noah said, softly, "Gansey talking about it." Ronan shrugged; clearly he hadn't cared much, or forgot. When Gansey started to talk about libraries and books his eyes began to close of their own accord.

Noah rubbed his hands together as he glanced away, clear eyes almost translucent, "Charles Defonte. Gansey said he asked for tutoring and then stole his lunch as a joke."

"Since when does that asshole study anything?" Ronan snorted, draping himself across the counter. Even if he was trying to act like he didn't give a shit, he did. No one fucked with their friend but him.

"Okay," Laurent said, gently combing his fingers through Gansey's hair, protective of him. "So we have five names. Gansey said he was going to get them expelled. I'm not about to argue with it. Even though I am grateful to them for getting us to meet."

Dialing his brother's number, he put the phone to his ear, nodding once to the others. "Excuse me."

Auguste picked up immediately. "Laurent?"

"He's with me," Laurent said, tilting his head back and looking up at the ceiling. He knew that Auguste and Gansey were friends, and Auguste would want to know Gansey was okay. "I believe that he had nothing to do with what upset me so much."

"That's good. I'm glad everything's okay."

"Mm. I need to know the truth about that day you were supposed to meet me in the library and somehow never showed up. The day I got locked in with Gansey."

"Oh." Auguste sounded awkward and uncomfortable.

Laurent cocked a brow, voice sharpening. "Oh?"

"Some of the boys--friends of Gansey--came to me and said that they wanted to set you up."

Laurent's face went icy with rage, voice raising. "And you thought that was a good idea."

"They said they thought you might be Gansey's type."

Laurent's mouth opened and then snapped shut. He couldn't actually argue with that. And, from what Auguste was saying, he thought that locking them in the library had been the extent of it, which was... not awful, as far as fraternal pranks went. "Did you know there were bets placed on the outcome?"

"There were what?" Auguste said, echoing Laurent's icy rage to a degree that made Laurent smirk.

"Gansey and I are handling it. And we can always sic Ronan on them. No need for you to get involved. I do, however, need a list of names."

Noah and Ronan were silent when Laurent called Auguste aside from the sound of Ronan gnawing on various pieces of food. Noah, as usual, ate nothing. Gansey remained blissfully asleep, only muttering a soft, pleased sound when he heard Laurent's voice. In his dreams he comprehended nothing, but the sound was soothing to him, and his dreams became sweeter.

Ronan grinned when his name was mentioned, and Noah wandered about the room, as though he didn't quite know what to do with himself.

All in all, from what Noah could deduce, it seemed as though it was a specific circle of guys that had decided a bet would be hilarious and not widespread thing.

"All boys who you turned down," he said, voice terribly soft so he wouldn't disturb Gansey, "and a few Gansey didn't notice were flirting with him. I remember them."

Ronan made a noise under his breath. "So they got rejected and thought it'd be funny to fuck with the guys that didn't want them." Ronan was sharp, yes, but adhered to a strict moral code all his own. Fucking with people that deserved it was usually okay. Because you were turned down? Tch. "It almost feels like they're getting off too easy. Sure, getting kicked out fucking sucks, but they'll just buy their way into another expensive school. It's not like this is the only one."

"I feel it should be pointed out," Laurent said, continuing to toy with Gansey's soft hair, "that they don't seem to have had all that much ill will about it. Betting on us is distasteful, and putting a bet in Gansey's name on whether he could 'fuck' me enrages me for an entirely different reason, because it implies that I'm a commodity. But that's it. As far as I know, they didn't want us hurt. The fact that we were was incidental, and my fault for jumping to conclusions. But. If someone were to swap out their toothpaste with foot cream, I can't say that I'd make any objections." He smirked, feeling confident and secure with Gansey's friends. He trusted them. Liked them.

Noah's eyes brightened. "Can we do something with glitter? A glitterbomb? We can send them all glitterbombs." It seemed like an excellent idea to him.

Ronan rolled his eyes, "No one's gonna get pissed off about a damn glitterbomb, Noah."

"You would be," Noah pointed out. Ronan opened and closed his mouth, and then snorted.

"Whatever. Adam's the best at this kind of stuff. Anyway, let's leave them alone to be gross." Tugging Noah by the scruff of his neck, Ronan tossed his friend into his room before going into his, the noise of wings flapping loud as Ronan laughed and closed his door.

In Laurent's arms, Gansey stirred. Sighed. He felt much better after sleeping, no longer freezing and close to death. "You're comfortable," he muttered, still half asleep.

❥ sometimes it's meant to be

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